


what is 'sane'?

by likeghostsinthesn0w (orphan_account)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Psychological Trauma, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, Romance, Schizophrenia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-18
Updated: 2012-12-13
Packaged: 2017-11-18 23:15:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/566346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/likeghostsinthesn0w
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel didn't always see things. Didn't always hear things. But since a traumatic accident as a child, he's become prey to his own subconscious, and he's getting closer and closer to giving up. That is, until, he forms an accidental bond with Dean, who has the same psychiatrist, a certain Bobby Singer. And maybe, just maybe, it will give Cas the energy and the will to live, to fight his demons, and most importantly...to love.</p><p>( Also, I don't know masses about mental illness like Castiel's, I'm researching as I go, I know more about institutions than people left in the real world. If I'm incorrect with anything please tell me!)</p><p>(Also I'm not American so please correct me if I get anything wrong!)</p><p>(Aaand I don't have a beta so if you'd like to beta please ask me, because I can't always see if something is wrong with my work and I want you guys to like it so please)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

They'd come to him every day and every night, the demons in his head. Dance in front of him, show their blackened eyes, their twisted limbs, and their pale, sickly skin. They'd laugh, the noise piercing his delicate ear drums. They'd often tease and taunt the poor man, the same way they'd done since he was just a boy, since the...incident. They often called him names, told him to do evil and terrible things. 

He tried to ignore them. He'd been trying for years. Some days they wouldn't bother him at all, but those days were becoming less and less frequent. And now as Castiel sat on the edge of his bed, with the voice of an English woman muttering obscenities at him, he started to think he should just end it all. Slit his wrists like the demons told him, or hang himself. Overdose, or just step out into traffic. At least then it would end. The woman laughed at him. 

'Going to off yourself, Castiel?' She sniggered. 'About bleedin' time!' 

A chorus of voices joined in with her, men, women, even the evil bastard children. Their faces loomed at the windows of his room, threatening to burst in at any moment. Castiel sprung up from the bed, and went over to the wall. After a stare off with the face of a new, particularly harsh featured man, he gripped the window sill, and as the voices got louder and teeth gnawed at bleeding lips, he hit his head into the bare brick wall of his apartment repeatedly, until blood trickled down his face, blurring his vision. It was a pain he was used to, sometimes it was the only thing that would make them stop. He would rather this than take his medication. They faded and their shrieks faded too, peace settling over Cas. 

After cleaning up the nasty wound on his head, he changed out of his wreaking nightwear, bundled them into a brown paper bag, pulled on his jeans, white tee and green hooded sweatshirt, and was out the door. On his way to the laundrette he kept his eyes to the floor, and his hood pulled up. His hands were trembling around the bag, he hated being in public. But trips to the launderette were necessary. As he opened the door, he braced himself for the ring of the bell above it. It was a shrill, cruel noise, he despised it. Cas dashed over to his usual machine, number 12, and hurried to load the machine. He fumbled around in his pocket for a coin to get the wash going, but he found his pocket was empty. Puzzled, he checked the other pocket. But that was empty too. Castiel continuously patted his pockets, convinced that something would turn up if he patted hard enough. The man next to him looked down, wanting to offer his quarters for the machine, but the frantic expression on Castiel's face scared him. 

Castiel was worried, he never forgot his money, never. He earned it himself, he had a job at home, he sat at his laptop doing spreadsheets and data analysis for Google. It meant he didn't have to leave home, he didn't have to talk to anyone, and he could protect the world from the monsters. From himself. But none of that mattered if he didn't remember to bring his money with him when he was out. 

The man looked at him again, concern rocking his features. His eyebrows pinned together, and he reached into his back pocket for some change. Castiel noticed him and shuddered, the huge man towered over him, and he had an intimidating stance, too confident for Hi liking.

"Here, take this." He said, holding the coins in his hand.

Cas shook his head minutely and continued to search his pockets. The man sighed, and leaned across to Castiel's machine, his huge biceps rippling underneath his khaki tee shirt. Well that just intimidated Cas even more. 

"Take it. Please." 

Castiel considered it for a moment, whether or not clean pyjamas was worth the torment he'd get later, for talking to this man. A sharp inhale of his clothes' scent told him all he needed to know, and he gingerly accepted the money. 

"Th-tha-nk y-you." Was all Castiel could manage. His throat was hoarse and croaky, he didn't often speak out loud. The man smiled though, and soon turned back to his own laundry. Cas found himself distracted by the man though, he kept looked over from under the safety of his hood, peeking at the 6ft Adonis with a leather jacket slung over his shoulder. He seemed a nice enough guy, but if he knew anything about Castiel, he'd run for the proverbial hills taking his gorgeous green eyes with him. Detergent lived on the shelf below the washer, so Castiel leant down to pick it up, and as he rose his hood slipped down. The sharp cold air hit Castiel's exposed ears and the nape of his neck, sending shivers. Cas's fingers scrambled to pull his hood back up, but it was too late, the man saw the massive cut on his head, still shiny with oozing blood.

"Shit man, are you okay?! What happened?"

"I'm fine,' he croaked. 'Please, leave me.' 

The man shook his head, 'No way, I can't just leave you. Come on, I'll drive you to the ER, it isn't far away...'

Castiel could not hear what the man said next, could not feel a pair of large hands on his slender shoulders, all he knew was that his head felt like it would explode, his blood rushed through his body and he began to twitch. Not just any twitch. It was violent, unnerving to watch, excruciating. If you've ever seen video clips of WW1 soldiers suffering from post traumatic stress ticks, well, that was what Castiel got...just before the whoreson demons emerged. He knew that this guy would be freaking out, and so would the other people in the launderette. He braced himself for the eerie feeling that was about the settle over him, the calm before the storm. Castiel knew he had to leave, he didn't want to put this people in danger, but his new 'friend' was stopping him. He met the mans eyes and tried desperately to get out of his vice like grip. 

"I need to leave, you don't understand. These people are in danger if I stay."

The man was confused to hell, and his face showed it. "I don't know what the hell is going on man, you need to calm down."

He lacked conviction, and Castiel saw his chance. He wriggled frantically and shoved the carts of laundry out of his way, catapulting himself through the open door. The voices began to taunt and tease him for not being strong enough to deal with such a simple task, their disgusting faces adopted the folk on the street. He ran as fast as his legs could carry him, till he was back at his apartment building. 

The stupid bitch who called herself Lilith was sporting a hangman's noose and was dangling from the top floor banister, eyes pinned on Castiel as he climbed the stairs, stupid elevator was out of order. Again. 

"Go away Lilith." he muttered as he reached his door.

"Why on earth would I do that sweetie? It's me and you time now..." Her voice drifted through the air eerily from her spot on the staircase. And then she was stood next to him, rubbing against him, her hand on his midriff. She fingered the fabric of his hoodie, and pulled enticingly at his draw-strings. She made his skin crawl. He shoved her away, repulsed to the core. 

'She's not real, she's not real, she's not real'

Castiel often chanted this in his head, but found his voice was drowned out by the voices of the others. But they were quiet today. Just him and Lilith. That was probably why his body had reacted the way it had, to that man seeing his head. Lilith had noticed. 

"Leave me alone. You're not real, you can't hurt me." 

She burst into hysterical laughter.

"Oh Castiel, I think you'll find...' Taking a dramatic pause, Lilith pulled her usual trick of, well, dissolving, into the floor "that I can." 

Castiel sighed deeply. He knew she would be in there waiting for him. He gently rested his forehead on the door. He couldn't keep doing this, he was breaking. He'd been able to cope until the recent escalation. They'd appear, what, once a week, normally on a Thursday. Some weeks would be more frequent, some weeks he was left alone. Now it was as many times as they wanted, a day. The sinking feeling in his shrivelled heart, was unbearable. Castiel knew that he was going to have to see Dr Singer, and that made him feel absolutely sick. Singer would find out he hadn't taken his medication in a year, and he would be in the doghouse. But it had to be done. He tired of it all. Tired of being alive, if he was honest. He was twenty three, and his body felt like it was seventy three. Pulling out his phone, and speed dialling Singer, he felt his body get heavier almost. Probably because he knew he'd get his head chewed off when he saw him. But that was better than anything Lilith would throw at him. She'd actually thrown a dead ferret at him once, the blood had stained his skin for days. 

'Breathe Cas, breathe.' He thought. 'Don't think about Lilith.'

"Dr Singer's office, how can I help you?"

"Hi Jo, it's Castiel Novak. Is it possible for me to get an appointment Doctor Singer today?"

He heard the ruffling of paper.

"Sure thing sweetie, it's you're lucky day, come over here now."

"Thank you Jo." 

Jo could hear the smile down the phone, and then the disconnection, and it broke her heart. Castiel was such a good man, he didn't deserve his illness, not that she ever looked in his file. Ever. Ok once. She placed the phone back on its holster, and sent Singer a page. She then scanned her Filofax with today's appointments. After pencilling in Castiel, Singer only had one other patient, Winchester D. She pondered what the 'D' stood for, but not for very long, and went to get herself a nice mug of coffee.


	2. Chapter 2

"Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Doctor. I can only apologise for not have come to see you sooner." 

While Castiel's words were clearly spoken, his hands were trembling, his knees up by his chest with his chin weighing down on them. His whole body was sending out vibrations, he couldn't keep still in his seat. 

"It's no problem Castiel. No problem at all. Now, when was your last visit to me?" As Doctor Singer began the look back through his sheets, Castiel piped up. 

"It's been two years and a month, November the 3rd 2010. At 4pm..." He trailed off. He knew Singer already knew this, and he'd landed himself in it. 

"That's a very long time Castiel. I signed you for medication, but not to last that long. You should have run out..."

"3 months and 4 days ago." Cas muttered. He played with the loose threads of his sleeves, avoiding all eye contact with his doctor, and definitely not telling him that it didn't matter that his prescription had run out, because he hasn't taken them in a year.

"Ziprasidone, if I remember correctly?" 

The young man nodded. The older sighed. 

"Why have you come to see me, Mr Novak?" 

"I'm not Mr Novak."

"What? Castie-"

"I am not Mr Novak. I am not Mr Novak. I am not Mr Novak! NOT, I AM, I AM NOT MR NOVAK." Cas began to thrash in his seat, with one his left hand covering his left ear.

Singer sprang to his feet, before Castiel could say or do anything else. He placed the flat of his palm against Castiel's forehead. "Breathe with me Cas. Breathe with me. In, 2, 3, 4. Out, 2, 3, 4." 

It took about five full minutes before Castiel stilled in his seat, and his cries dulled. He continued to whimper his defence, and Singer mentally scalded himself, for referring to Cas as Mr Novak, he'd made this mistake before. Mr Novak of course, had been his father.

*~*

Dean fidgeted in the plump, brown leather chair, changing the location of his buttocks every so often, to avoid leaving an ass imprint. He was always conscious of that, like what I his ass left a really fat print? He liked to think he had a decent butt and didn't want to leave any evidence suggesting otherwise. He glanced up at the clock on the far wall, squinting slightly to see the time. His appointment was supposed to have been 9 minutes ago. Jo smiled sympathetically from behind her desk, seeing how uncomfortable he seemed to be. She crossed the space between them, and plonked herself down next to him. 

"Do you want a cup of coffee, Mr Winchester? Or maybe a soft drink? Or a snack?"

Dean returned her smile, but shook his head. "No thanks, I'm alright. And you can call me Dean."

"If you're sure? I don't mind,' she paused. 'Dean.' She smiled again saying his name, but it was a much brighter smile, it reached her eyes, and her nose scrunched up a little. 

He chuckled and leant forward, placing his chin into his hands. "You know how much longer Bobby is gonna be?"

The use of Doctor Singer's first name threw Jo off slightly, but she shook her head. Dean sighed in response.

"So do you know Doctor Singer well?" She enquired, crossing her legs and folding her arms.

"Yeah...' Dean answered, rubbing the back of his neck. 'Yeah, he knew my dad. He was almost like a dad to me, and to my brother, Sam. He had to pull a few strings apparently, to have me as a, uh patient, given our relationship. But at the end of the day, the board respect him too much to fuck him around."

Jo sat silently, listening to Dean. In the end all she said was "I see." She didn't want to press him any further, it wasn't her place at all to do so. She did however wonder about the relationship between Dean and Robert, or 'Bobby', and why Dean needed to see him.

She left Dean in the waiting room, and went to the small kitchen down the corridor to grab herself a mug of her favourite drug. She loved the kitchen, the yellow peeling wallpaper, the old wooden cupboard panelling. The humming noise of the refrigerator. It reminded her of the shop she grew up in, well more specifically the upstairs living quarters. Their kitchen had been almost the same, her mother never could afford to fix it, she'd rather pay the bills and ensure Jo had everything she needed, than spruce up a kitchen. When she returned to the waiting room, she buzzed the intercom to Singer's office. She adopted a perplexed expression when there was no answer. She tried again. Nothing. Dean eyes her with suspicion, he wanted to know what was going on. Taking a sip of her steaming coffee, she waited, just a few moments. And buzzed again. Again she was greeted with silence. 

Dean was getting more and more agitated, and had taken to standing, almost distracting Jo from the task at hand. He was tall, taller than she'd expected, at least 6ft. And he was huge, his torso and shoulders were incredibly broad, and his biceps an forearms were incredibly muscled and toned. His thighs plenty filled his jeans, and she would have bet everything she owned in the world that the rest of him was just as delicious as what she could see at present. She had to clear her throat, and involuntarily flicked her hair, (it just happened ok. Call it a girl reflex) before pressing on the intercom one more time. 

"WHAT IS IT JO?"

Bobby's reaction startled her. She didn't quite know what to say, he'd never shouted at her before now. He'd called her an idjit once of twice, but she'd come to think of it as a term of endearment. 

"I have a Dean Winchester here. He's been waiting for an appointment that should have started 15 mi-"

"Ah shoot. Send him in Jo."

And with that he cut her off. Dean had heard, so she simply jerked her head in the direction of the door, and mumbled "He's all yours."

The door opened from the other side before Dean could grasp the handle, and he did a double take. It was the guy from the laundrette! The crazy one with the huge gash on his head. Well, he was in a psych's office so obviously Dean wasn't wrong with the crazy part. That shit had freaked him the fuck out. All he'd tried to do was offer him coins and help for the wound, but the guy had flipped! Started having like a massive rage fit. The whole laundrette had been watching and the whole thing left Dean incredibly embarrassed. And then the guy ran, and well now they were here.

Mr Crazy also noticed Dean, his crystal blue eyes widened dramatically and his hands began to tremble. His fingers desperately fumbled for his sleeves, as though trying to conceal himself as thoroughly as possible, even to the tips of his fingers. Dean couldn't help but be attracted to him though. The intensity of his eyes was alarming but beautiful, the way his nearly black hair was tousled the perfection. Like sex hair. Like I-just-had-the-best-sex-of-my-life sex hair. Dean just wanted to run his fingers through it. He also wanted to drag his tongue across the stubble of the other mans jaw. Dean couldn't help it, he'd always digged the whole vulnerable look, and this guy definitely had that down. But he had a worrying frame, something he'd picked up in hindsight from the laundrette incident. The guy was like, bony as hell, Dean just wanted to take him out for a beer and some pie. 

Bobby's eyebrows knotted in mild confusion but just ushered Castiel past Dean, and out into the corridor. Dean could hear them muttering.

"I want you to come see me tomorrow ok? Promise me you'll be here Castiel?"

Cas nodded, his eyes flickering back to the man from the laundrette. Bobby noticed this again, and asked what was going in there. 

"I just, I uh, we met today at the laundrette..."

Bobby nodded as Cas trailed off, realising that Dean was the one who's gripped Castiel's arms, trying to help when he began to freak out. What Dean probably didn't know was that he had left large purple bruises on the lightly tanned skin. Dean often didn't know his own strength, and well, Castiel bruised like a peach. 

"Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow. And thank you Doctor. I will take my medication this time. I promise."

Bobby nodded, doubt plaguing his mind. Castiel would never take that medication. Not really. Bobby thought perhaps he needed someone in his life to be a reason to take it, he thought that would probably be the only way, but he was also aware of the 5 million problems that came with that. He patted the younger man on the shoulder, and told him to 'skidattle.' Cas smiled softly, before turning, looking back at Dean, and leaving. 

"Hey Old man." Croaked Dean, arms open for a hug. Bobby couldn't help the grin that spread across his face, and he re entered the room to hug the man he still thought of as a young boy. 

"Hey there, you big idjit!"


End file.
